Beneath the Ashes

by Jane Isaac

  “What about her family?”

  “The Wainwright family still live in Harlestone, a village in Northamptonshire.” She leafed through the pile of printouts on her desk. “I’ve been trying to track down Garrett’s last movements, see when he changed his name. He was still Garrett four years ago when he applied for a new passport. Nancy said Evan, whom we know now to be Richard, had been at the farm two years. So we just need to fill in the gaps.”

  “What about his family?”

  “Father deceased. He was living with his mother in Northampton when he was first released. Sister moved to Canada about four years ago.”

  “How did he get acquitted? They must have had some pretty strong evidence to keep him in custody.”

  “I’ve been reading through the file online. He was seeing her for several months before the incident. She didn’t come forward for a couple of days afterwards, so there wasn’t much to go on. Came down to consent in the end. I guess she couldn’t convince the jury.”

  “When does our intelligence go quiet?”

  “September 2011. Not long after he applied for the new passport. Nothing since then.”

  “I’d like to have a word with an officer on the case. See what was going on. And we need to check the Wainwright family too. It’s a long shot after all this time, but if they’d discovered Richard Garrett’s new identity and where he was living, the old case would give them a motive.”

  ***

  Becca withdrew her head from the fridge. “We’ll need some more milk for later.”

  Nancy stared into her cornflakes. She could feel Becca’s eyes on her.

  “Why don’t you pop out and get some?” Becca said. “The fresh air will do you good.”

  Fear prickled Nancy’s scalp. The last thing she wanted to do was to leave the confines of the flat, on her own, after yesterday’s experience. “I’m not sure.”

  “Come on. It’ll only take a few minutes.” She smiled until Nancy met her eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay? I could ask for today off, if you want?”

  The thought of having Becca here with her was tempting. The company would provide a welcome distraction. But she couldn’t let Becca know there was anything wrong. She had to deal with this problem herself. “No, I’m fine. Really. I’ll sort it.”

  “Okay. Well, I’m going to go downstairs before Mum wonders where I am. I’ll be there if you have any problems.”

  Left alone, Nancy remained seated at the kitchen table. She dragged in a deep breath. It was a quarter to nine. Town would be busy, rush hour in full swing. Lots of people around. Yesterday, he’d come down the alley, out of view from the road. Which meant he didn’t want a public display. It was easier to get lost in a crowd.

  She went to the bathroom, brushed a little mascara over her lashes and pulled her hair back into a messy bun. In the hallway, she grabbed Becca’s red jacket and placed it over her shoulders.

  Her heart pounded as she opened the door, closed it behind her and descended slowly down the stairs, eyes darting about, keys grasped in one hand, phone in the other. She moved through the alley at the side of the shop quickly.

  A car sped past as she reached the street out front. She looked each way. There were plenty of people around, striding in different directions. But no sign of anyone lurking. She tried to remain calm and turned onto the main street, joining the throng of bodies filling the pavement on this Thursday morning.

  Nancy weaved in and out of the people as she made her way down the road, past the uneven Tudor shop frontages that Stratford was famous for. The sun was injecting a welcome heat into the day and by the time she reached the supermarket, she could feel sweat tickling her neckline.

  The store air-conditioning provided a welcome respite. She picked up the milk and wandered over to the ready meal section to choose a pizza. Bacon and mushroom was Becca’s favourite. She’d get one for them to share for dinner, maybe a bottle of wine too, as a thank you for looking after her these past few days, especially since she knew that Becca hadn’t always approved of Evan. She’d hated the way that Nancy pushed everything aside and changed her plans at the last minute to meet up with him, how he never came out with her friends. Only last week he’d called her up to see her after she’d already arranged to go to the cinema with Becca. He was angry and short with her on the phone. Eventually she’d cancelled Becca. But he was busy on the farm, he worked hard and when there was a little free time he wanted to spend it with her. She understood that. They saw so little of each other as it was.

  But the impression Becca had of him was all wrong. Evan was shy, which made him appear withdrawn, aloof even at times. But he was also generous and kind. So many people seemed to form judgements, without really getting to know him. She worked her way through the pizzas, placing one in her basket. Her fingers lingered on the garlic bread a moment. She was just wondering whether to go for freshly sliced or a loaf, when she sensed a presence close by.

  Warm breath on her neck. That familiar smell of old chewing gum. It was him.

  Nancy made to turn, but he was too quick, pushing his body against hers. She just caught sight of the cuff of a black sweatshirt, inked letters on the side of his forefinger before he jammed her against the fridge. “Still watching,” he said. She jumped as he nudged her basket with his knee.

  She spun around. Searching urgently for any sign of who it might be. The supermarket was busy but she caught a glimpse – the rear view of a man in denims. A black hoody pulled up over his head. She dropped the basket, rushed towards him, zigzagging through the other shoppers. He’d reached the door, turned out into the street. She followed. But as hard as she looked, she couldn’t see him. She stood very still, raised her arms, swung them around the back of her head.

  Her hands trembled as she lowered them. A wave of nausea hit her. The realisation of what had just happened. She glanced back at the store, desperate to be back in her flat. Behind the locked door, safe. But if she didn’t pick up the milk, Becca would ask questions.

  Nancy raced back into the supermarket, grabbed her basket and pushed through the bodies towards the checkout, fidgeting from one foot to another in the queue. The checkout girl eyed her warily.

  Bodies filled Bridge Street as she left the store. Shoulders nudged her this way and that. Her eyes searched in all directions. When she was absolutely sure there was no sign of the black hoody she moved on, her speed kicking up. By the time she reached the corner, she’d broken into a jog. The back stairs leading to the flat resonated with every step. The key pressed into the lock. The door swung open. Nancy rushed in and slammed it behind her, pausing to check the lock before dropping her bags and sliding to the floor.

  She could see his hand, stretching round to grab her. Grubby fingernails. Inked letters down the inside of his forefinger. CC… something.

  She sat there for a while, listening to her breaths, short and sharp. Waiting for her heart to stop thumping.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jackman had just pulled onto the M6 en route to Northampton when he heard a phone ringing. Davies leant down, picked through her bag and pulled it out. “It’s Keane,” she said to Jackman. “Hi, you’re on speaker,” she answered. “Any news?”

  “How’s the head, sir?” Keane said. “We’ve been discussing whether we should rent you out to night patrol.”

  Jackman heard a chorus of laughter in the background and couldn’t resist a chuckle. He’d met a similar response when he’d submitted his statement about last night’s incident. Cops loved the opportunity for a laugh and it would take a while for this one to die down. “Have you got something for us, or did you just phone to take the piss?” he said.

  “The forensics report has just come through from the farmhouse. We know about the cash, just under two grand, in a shoe box in the bottom of his wardrobe. No distinguishing fingerprints, plenty from Nancy and the victim but no one else. Keys and guns still missing.”

  Jackman exhaled. “Is that it?”

  “Pret
ty much.”

  “Any news on Anderson?”

  “The drugs squad have been in touch. There’s talk of him flying back home tomorrow. We’ve checked the airlines. No bookings yet but maybe he’s going for a last-minute ticket.”

  “What about the real Evan Baker?”

  “I’m drawing a blank there, sir. His passport says he flew out to Thailand on the 16th of August 2011 and returned on the 12th of June 2013. Richard Garrett flew out to Thailand on the 2nd of October 2011. We think Richard used Evan’s passport to fly back, as there is no record of a Richard Garrett returning to the UK. So sometime between August 2011 and June 2013, the real Evan Baker seems to have disappeared. His passport was never reported lost or stolen. We’ve obtained an old email address from his sister, but it was only used a couple of times in August 2011. Nothing since.”

  “Do Garrett and Baker look alike?”

  “Evan Baker’s sister emailed us some photos. Garrett is shorter than Baker, and slimmer. But they both had blond hair, blue eyes and were the same age. It’s possible they could be mistaken from a distance if you weren’t looking too closely.” Keane cleared his throat. “I’ve gone through International Liaison and the Thai authorities have been really helpful, but they’ve left us under no illusions. Evan’s sister said she last had contact with him in Chang Mai, which is in the northern province of Thailand, just below the border to Laos. Most travellers go up there, stay a couple of nights in a hostel, go off trekking in the hills, then return to Bangkok. There’s a plethora of hostels for the police to try and none of them keep general records of guests. It’s cheap. Most of them are cash only operations. And given that it’s four years ago, there’s not much chance anyone’s memory will stretch that far back.”

  Jackman thought back to his conversations with Evan’s sister, how she’d been out there herself, painstakingly searched for her brother. “Okay. Leave the Thai police to search, but also get in touch with the Met. They have an office for British citizens that have disappeared abroad. See if they can give us any advice on how to take this forward.”

  The phone cut. Davies dropped it into her bag. “It’s odd, isn’t it, that we can’t find anyone that can give us some firm background on either Evan Baker or Richard Garrett? It’s like they are both one and the same. Do you think Richard was out there looking for somebody’s identity to steal, saw Evan and engineered his death? But then there would have to have been a body, a suspicious disappearance.”

  “I’m not sure,” Jackman said. “Alice and I travelled a little around Thailand. I’ve been to Chang Mai briefly. It’s very much a transient area. People are coming and going all the time. It’s doubtful anyone would question a disappearance. And there’s lots of open space up there. Wouldn’t be difficult to hide a body if you were minded to. There’s always a chance that the real Evan Baker decided to stay in a remote area of Thailand, off the record, and sold his passport.”

  “So we’ll never know what happened to him?”

  “I don’t know. We just have to keep trying.”

  ***

  Jackman gave up on the doorbell, rapped his knuckles hard against the wooden door and waited. Soft rain was starting to fall, spotting the shoulders of his navy shirt. He felt Davies give an imperceptible shiver beside him and stepped back, looking up at the white pebble-dashed house. The curtains were open, the windows smeared with rain that was now gathering momentum.

  “Can’t see any movement,” Davies said, peering through the front window.

  Jackman turned and was just considering whether or not to rap the door again, or try one of the neighbours, when he saw an elderly figure in the distance hobbling up the road. Her face was set hard against the weather, the collar of her raincoat turned up against the wind. Bulging carrier bags filled both hands. He waited for her to approach before he could speak, but she beat him to it. “Can I help you?” she asked in a low raspy voice.

  “We’re looking for Audrey Garrett,” Davies said.

  The woman turned into the driveway, paused to look them both up and down. “What’s it about?”

  Now that she was closer Jackman could see that she was younger than she looked at first glance, although her face still bore the deep grooves of a difficult life. “We really need to speak to Mrs Garrett,” Jackman said. He introduced them both and they held up their identification cards. “Do you know her?”

  “You’re speaking to her.” She pushed past them and dropped a plastic carrier bag on the ground. The tins inside rattled against each other as they hit the paving. She fished a key out of her pocket and placed it in the lock.

  “We need to talk to you about your son, Mrs Garrett,” Davies said. “May we come in?”

  A brief tensing of shoulders was followed by a sharp turn of the head. “If you must.”

  As she reached down for her bag, Jackman leant forward. “Let me help…” But she elbowed him back, grabbing the bags, heaving them into the hallway and straight down into the room at the back that Jackman guessed was the kitchen. By the time Davies had clicked the door shut behind them, he could hear the sound of a fridge door open and close, tins tapping cupboard shelving as they were put away. They exchanged a glance and waited several moments for her to return.

  When Audrey did reappear the coat had been removed, revealing a pair of navy trousers and a white T-shirt that pulled against the roll of fat straddling her waistline. Cream slippers clad her feet. “You’d better come through,” she said.

  They followed her into a lounge room that overlooked the road. Off-white woodchip covered the walls. A grey velour sofa and armchair, scattered with floral cushions, was arranged around the television. A teak table and chairs were visible through glass doors at the other end. A blue Persian cat looked up from its position on the armchair and glared at them.

  Jackman’s eyes worked through the photos that littered the mantle: two different babies, taken separately; a school photo of a boy and a girl next to each other, both in red jumpers; a larger one of a whole family draped across each other in a ‘professional portrait’-style pose. Beneath them a display of dried flowers filled the hearth.

  “Please, sit down,” Jackman said.

  A mild tick flickered beneath Audrey Garrett’s left eye, although she said nothing and crossed to the single armchair beneath the window, lifting the cat onto her lap as she sat. He purred loudly, nuzzling into her hands.

  “May we?” Jackman indicated to the sofa.

  She gave a single nod. “What is all this about?”

  “I’m afraid we have some bad news,” Jackman said. “Your son, Richard Garrett, was found dead on Sunday evening.” Once the words were out, he watched, waiting for the inevitable reaction: the shock, the tears, disbelief or anger, poised to deal with it. But there was nothing. Audrey’s face was expressionless, her eyes averted, staring blankly into space as if she were recalling a distant memory. Jackman looked across at Davies and sat forward. “Are you okay, Mrs Garrett?”

  Audrey fixed her gaze on him. “Is that it?”

  “Do you understand what I’ve told you? Your son—”

  “I heard you.”

  A brief silence followed, broken by the sound of Davies shuffling off the sofa beside him. “Let me get you a drink,” she said to Audrey.

  Audrey didn’t look up as she left the room. The cat continued to purr. Jackman could hear Davies in the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards. His eyes scanned the room for any signs of Richard, although they were quickly disappointed. The photos on the hearth looked as though they belonged to another family. The walls were clear, apart from a couple of Constable prints that hung beside each other at the far end and a mock oil painting of a vase of flowers on the wall behind the sofa.

  Davies returned with a steaming mug. She handed it to Audrey, who looked up at her and took it, reluctantly. She took a sip and grimaced, but said nothing.

  “Mrs Garrett, I know this is a huge shock for you,” Jackman said. “But we really do need your help.
Do you feel up to answering some questions?”

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “We’re still trying to establish the facts,” Jackman said in his softest voice. “His body was found in a burnt-out barn. We’re pretty sure that he was killed first and his body placed in the barn before the fire started.”

  “He was killed. You mean murdered?”

  Jackman nodded. “I’m so sorry.”

  Audrey’s blank face looked back at him.

  “When was the last time you heard from Richard?” Jackman asked.

  “I haven’t seen or heard from my son in four years.”

  “Did you have any contact details for him?”

  She shook her head. “Last I heard he had gone off to Thailand.”

  “And when was that?”

  “About four years ago. After the… Well, I’m sure you people will know about the trial.”

  Jackman nodded. “Does he have any other family?”

  “Only a sister. Married a Canadian. She lives in Toronto now.”

  “Would you like us to contact her?” Davies asked.

  Audrey shook her head. “I’ll tell her myself. He hasn’t spoken to her in years.”

  “What about friends here in Northampton before he went away?” Jackman said.

  “Richard never really had many friends. He was a difficult lad from the minute he was born. Always into everything, not placid and helpful like his sister.” She cast a sideways glance towards the mantle. “I lost count of the number of times I was called into school when he was a kid and that was only at primary school. He never said much, but he seemed to delight in upsetting people. I couldn’t fathom him out. He didn’t want to play with toys, or go to the park with friends. He used to hang around on his own, mostly outdoors. He went to work as a builder’s apprentice when he was sixteen, moved out shortly afterwards.”

  “What was the last address you had for him?”

  I know he lived in Duston for a while. I’ll find you the address, although I can’t see how anyone there will remember him now. He shared with a chap named Charlie Truman. He mentioned his name a few times. It stuck in my mind. Never met him though.”